I wanted to try and pie and mash. It sounded so unutterably disgusting that I actually thought it might be the just kind of thing that I would secretly enjoy.

I was also drawn to the idea of traditional East End fare and the chance to enjoy something with a cultural edge, of sorts.

F. Cookes doesn’t disappoint on that score. From the exterior paint job right down to the tiled interior and (somewhat puzzling) row upon row of malt vinegar bottles, it was the kind of place that ought to be shrouded in smog and full of gin-soaked Victorian patrons. In fact it was almost empty.

The menu offers combinations of the main ingredients, pies and mash, served in a variety of proportions. Everything is served with a strange, green and I think parsley based gravy known as liquor and if you're brave you can also buy jellied eels.

I opted for a small pie and mash. The liquor was splashed on liberally, without consultation.  It splashed liberally around the plate’s edges and on to my coat sleeves as I returned to the table, none the less quite eager for a taste.

On sitting I began to appreciate the amount of mash I had actually been served. It was everest-esque in proportion and quite bland, even a little powdery. I mixed it up with the liquor, which only made it green.

The pie was a strange proposition. I quite liked the pastry – albeit in a guilty pleasure kind of way - but the meat was abominable. I literally couldn’t eat it, which, considering I am the kind of positive eater who looks for something to enjoy in every kind of food, is a pretty damning criticism.

Looking across to the recently deserted table next to me I noticed that they too had failed to consume the majority of their food.

F. Cookes has an air of times gone by. The food’s dreadful and yet there’s something about the place that is strangely appealing. I won’t be beating a path to their door but I will be sneaking up there from time to time – if only just to check it hasn’t changed.

F. Cooke
150 Hoxton Street